


The Water Dancer

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: In which Brienne stows away on a ship to Braavos to escape her third betrothal, and wanders into a water dancing salle.
Relationships: Arthur Dayne/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 22
Kudos: 110





	The Water Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> I know that in the books Arthur had Targaryen blood and the Targaryen looks, but in my head he has dark hair as per show-canon.

The sound of a Westerosi voice draws her in. 

For long hours, she’s been wandering up and down the canals. She’s tired and hungry and her feet hurt, and she almost regrets the impulse that had led her to stow away on the first ship leaving Tarth. But she can’t go back, not when it means returning to her betrothal to old Ser Humphrey Wagstaffe. 

And so when she hears the distinct, drawling tones of a highborn Westerosi accent, she heads into the shadowed palazzo. At least it’s out of the sun. 

She finds herself in a long room illuminated by high windows, with mirrors on the white-washed walls and floors of smooth, polished wood. 

It’s a water dancing salle, she realizes with a sense of wonder. 

There is only one student, a slim, lithe youth just a little younger than herself, with dark curling hair and solemn grey eyes. He’s practicing his lunges with the instructor looking on: a tall, broad-shouldered man, more muscular than any water dancer she’s ever seen before. 

The student sees her first. He lowers his slim blade and smiles at her. “Hello,” he says. “Have you come to take lessons?” 

The instructor turns to face her. Caught unaware, Brienne stares, unspeaking: he has curling golden hair and green eyes, and is simply the most handsome man she’s ever seen.

“Come in, boy,” the instructor says. His eyes narrow, and then his brows fly up, his mouth curling in an ironic smile. “Or should I say, girl.” 

Brienne fights the urge to hunch in on herself defensively. “My name is Brienne,” she says. “I thought – you don’t look like a water dancer.” 

“No?” the instructor asks. “Well, I admit I wasn’t raised to it. But when I first came to Braavos, I was intrigued – and I was young enough, and quick enough, to learn.” 

“You are Westerosi, then,” she says. “I thought so.” 

“And so are you,” the student says. “I’m Jon – and this is my uncle Jaime.” 

**

She joins in the lesson. 

It’s completely different from the sword-and-buckler work she had learned from Ser Goodwin, relying on speed and agility rather than brute force. Her instincts are all wrong. But Jaime only laughs, and says that he was the same, too, at first. 

As the sun sets and the last of the light fades, Jaime brings the lesson to a close. 

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” Jon asks, scrutinizing her pale face and dirty clothes. “You look tired and hungry. I’m sure Uncle Arthur won’t mind.” 

Brienne flushes. Jaime puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder, shakes it in mock-reproof. “A little more grace, cub,” he sighs. “But he’s not wrong,” he says to Brienne. “You look like a gutter urchin.” 

“I –” she swallows, “I stowed away on a ship. I’m running away from home.” 

“Well.” Jaime only grins, sharp and ironic. “I understand the impulse. Come, stay with us tonight, and tomorrow you can decide what to do next.”

And so Brienne follows Jaime and Jon out of the salle and into their home. 

** 

The smell of food sets her stomach rumbling. A tall dark-haired man is working in the kitchen, throwing handfuls of unfamiliar spices into a simmering pot; Jaime greets him with a warm smile and advises him that Brienne will join them for dinner. 

“Be welcome in our home, Brienne,” the dark-haired man says. He has a curious lyrical accent – Dornish, she thinks, remembering some of the sailors she had overheard in the harbour at Tarth. “My name is Arthur.”

Jaime sends Jon and Brienne off to wash their hands before dinner. When they come back, the meal is ready, and they all sit down at the great wooden table to eat: Arthur at the head and Jaime at the foot, and Jon and Brienne on either side. 

The food is delicious, but amazingly spicy. “Dragon peppers,” Arthur says with a smile, as Brienne’s face goes red and she begins to sweat. “Here, drink some milk – it will soothe the burn.” 

** 

One night turns into a week, which turns into two weeks and then a full month. Brienne stays with Jon and Jaime and Arthur in their palazzo and takes water dancing lessons in the salle, and in return she helps out in whatever manner she can. 

Brienne and Jon become fast friends. She tells him about her father’s third attempt to betroth her to an old man of five-and-sixty. In return, he tells her that his real name is Jon Sand, and that he had been brought to Braavos as a baby. 

“Uncle Arthur is my mother’s brother,” Jon says. “He took me in after her death. I never knew my father. He died in the war.” 

“And your uncle Jaime?” Brienne asks. “He’s not Dornish.” 

“No.” Jon looks at her, measuring. “Uncle Jaime and Uncle Arthur are – together.” 

“Oh.” Brienne bites her lip. 

“Such things are more accepted here in Braavos,” Jon says. 

Now that Jon has made her aware of it, Brienne can see signs that Jaime and Arthur are more than just bachelor companions. They’re not overtly affectionate, but there’s a subtle warmth between them; something in the way they stand close together, or in a shared jest or a glance. Sometimes, Arthur puts his hand on Jaime’s shoulder, and Jaime smiles and grasps his wrist. 

** 

Two months into her lessons, Jaime tells her that she’ll never have the lightning speed and grace of a true water dancer. “But Arthur thinks you have the makings of a knight,” he says. “Now, come with me.” He reaches up into the fireplace and retrieves a key from a secret spot, leads her up the stairs into the chamber he shares with Arthur and unlocks a heavy wooden sea-chest.

Inside, she catches a glimpse of heavy white wool, the gleam of mail and plate, the dull sheen of leather, and a hint of black and red. He closes the lid and locks it again before she can get a proper look, but when he straightens up he’s holding – a sheathed sword. A true Westerosi longsword. 

“Here, take it,” he says, holding it out to her hilt-first. “It was mine, once. Before – well. Before.”

She draws the blade from the sheath, marveling at the perfect balance, the quality of the castle-forged steel. It must once have been very ornate; there are still flecks of gold on the hilt and on the blade, but now the true steel shines through, cold and deadly. 

“Use it well,” he says. “Now – Arthur is waiting for you in the courtyard.” 

** 

And so Brienne begins her lessons with Arthur. 

With a heavy practice sword in his hand, he’s no longer the smiling cook too-free with Dornish spices, nor even Jaime’s solemn companion, but is somehow, taller, more imposing, more authoritative. 

He puts her through her paces, testing her skills and her reactions. At first her instincts are confused, blurred by the water dancing lessons, but the old, familiar dance of sword and shield soon returns to her. 

“Good,” Arthur says, as some of her old grace returns – and perhaps the water dancing has done her some good, after all, for her wrists are more supple and her footwork surer. “Now – come at me.”

She attacks, in a flurry of clack, clack, clack of practice swords meeting; Arthur disengages and kicks her feet out from underneath her, and she lands on the ground with a pained grunt. 

“Again,” Arthur says. 

Groaning, she gets back to her feet and tries again. 

“Better,” Arthur says, as he knocks her on her arse a second time. “You’ve had a good teacher, I see. Now – again.” 

By the end of the lesson, she’s all over bruises, but she had finally managed to hold her own against Arthur for more than a few seconds. He smiles warmly at her and grasps her shoulder, and sends her in to wash up for dinner. 

“We’ll have a real Dornish feast tonight!” he says. “I bought some snake venom today from a ship out of Sunspear.” 

** 

Before she realizes it, she’s been with Jaime, Arthur and Jon for more than six months. She misses her father, yes, and she misses Tarth, but she loves the hustle and bustle of Braavos and under Arthur’s tutelage her skill with a sword improves in leaps and bounds. 

Sometimes, when there are no other students in the salle, Jaime and Jon wander out to the courtyard to watch her, calling out cheerful encouragement and mock-groaning whenever Arthur knocks her to the ground. 

“Again,” Arthur always says, but soon a note of warm pride begins to creep into his tone; he smiles at her, and says that she is his most promising student since Jaime. 

“That’s not saying much,” Jaime interjects. “You’ve only had one other student since you knighted me.” 

Jon objects too. “Yes, uncle, what about me?” he asks, his smile lighting his solemn eyes. 

Arthur only sighs. “Jon, you’re a far better water dancer, and you know it. And Jaime – she’s far less trouble than you ever were. A more restless, reckless boy I never knew.” 

Jaime grins. “Come on,” Arthur says, picking up a spare practice sword and throwing it towards him; Jaime catches it with a laughing smile, and prowls forward, testing the balance.

“Watch this, Brienne,” Jon says.

Jaime and Arthur turn the hacking, slashing steps of Westerosi swordplay into a thing of grace and beauty. They step and stamp and swirl, swords meeting and parting, advancing and retreating in perfect harmony. Their eyes lock and hold, and the connection between them shimmers like a heat haze; when they finally call a halt, they’re breathing in great gasps, sweat running down their backs. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Arthur says to Jon and Brienne, without taking his eyes from Jaime. “We have to discuss something in private –”

Jon’s uncles take the steps two at a time on the way to their chambers, and the door slams behind them with a heavy, echoing thud. Brienne and Jon don’t see them again until the next morning. 

** 

Finally, when Brienne has been at the palazzo for a full year, she asks Jaime, Arthur and Jon if she should return to Tarth. 

“I don’t know what my father must think of me,” she says. “I just – ran away.” 

“Stay,” Jon says. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” 

“We’ve all run away from somewhere,” Jaime says. “There’s no shame in it.” 

Arthur puts his hand on her shoulder. “Stay with us, Brienne,” he says. “You’re family now.”

** 

And so she does.


End file.
